Your Adored One
by msgrits
Summary: Grissom and Sara have entered into a contract. Now she wants out. Grissom doesn’t want to let her go. “I have never felt so cherished and cared for.”
1. Chapter 1

**A/N Response to our Yahoo Groop Weekly challenge issues by Smryczko. Incidentally Smrycko served as beta along with Cybrokat.**

**The names that Sara and Gris call one another will become clear later on. Of course you can always look them up but what fun with that be? At least you will actually know what Grissom's names means since Sara doesn't. Otto is Japanese and the "t" is pronounced more like a "ch".**

**Challenge Elements:**

**GSR (that's a given, right)  
Someone (should be a CSI or significant other of a CSI) as a Juror  
A CSI testifying at the same trial  
Grissom Crying  
A really bad argument  
Sex toy used not for intended purpose  
Mismatched Sex Drives  
Mention of Real Sex program on HBO or other educational Sex program on television  
Grissom in tights  
The first or last line should be "I knew he was a sensualist"  
A quote from Nietzsche**

_**Spoilesr: LHB, sure there will be others. **_

_**References to bondage no violence.**_

**_I really would like a little feedback on this one guys._**

_**Thanks**_

Chapter 1

"I knew he was a sensualist." Heather laughed as she looked at the other woman. James Brass would have preferred to be called a good cop but you got your complements where they landed.

She ignored the object that Jim Brass had placed in the middle of the table. Heather had been in the small room for half an hour. Listening and watching. Answering both simple and complex questions.

She was not a pretty woman. Her look was too strong. Everything too unforgiving. That mouth. Well that mouth could earn her a better living than her current occupation. This woman. This CSI Sidle was something different. Something that Heather rarely saw. She was chosen.

Most women were not chosen. Instead they created some frenzied delusion of lipstick and perfume making spectacles of their authentic selves in order to attract men that did not understand them or want them or understand them as they were.

This woman harbored no such fanciful delusions or needs. She was not painted or drawn on or wasted away or silicone infested. She was in her own skin comforted by the knowledge that she had been chosen.

She looked at her wrists and her thin slim fingers as she wrote. There were no visible marks. There hardly ever were. For this woman there would be a hand print on the calf covered with pants she had to special order because he legs were too long for conventional sizes.

There would be palm print on one cheek. A bruise on her neck that resembled a hicky but was not one.

The woman had said only few words since they had been in the room. Periodically she leaned over and spoke into the ear of the cop, they seemed comfortable with one another but he wasn't the one, as he asked questions about the client that Heather was certain had killed someone.

Her voice was low and rumbling. Not a girl's high pitched squeak that some women emitted at part of their mating call. She held a woman's voice that could send men scurrying to do her bidding.

Heather inhaled deeply. The scent was familiar and thick. The scent of this CSI Sidle and her lover. Who was this sleek creature with too much of all that mattered?

Brass interrupted Heather's thoughts. "What do you know about the vic and your girl?" He asked again.

Brass pointed to the large purple sphere on the table.

"We found this at your place of business Lady Heather. What exactly is it?" He asked again.

Long lashes fluttered and full lips twitched.

**_You have lovely lips._**

"Captain Brass, you should know what this is." She licked full lips. "It's a dildo, Captain Brass."

He lips returned the lip twitch. "Why was it at your place of business? I thought there was no sex allowed."

"Captain Brass, solo sex is not prohibited. Thus the dildo."

"So you provided the…."

Lady Heather smiled. "We provide the discipline and a few props as needed."

Sara moved and eyed the dildo.

"I told you Captain Brass. He was a client. She worked for me. You have my records. You have talked to my staff. Beyond that…."

He saw something cloud exotic features.

"What aren't you telling me Lady Heather?"

She sighed heavily and Jim tried not to stare as her breast heaved up and down.

"I believe they entered into a personal contract."

Brass watched her for several long moments. "You gonna tell me what that means?"

"I believe that Malva and Bryant entered into a dominate and submissive contract. I believe that he was the dominant and she was the submissive. She was very good at allowing men the allusion of control." Heather cut her eyes at Sara who was eyeing the dildo with a far off expression

"Aren't most women?" Brass asked.

"No. They aren't. Which is why we end up in such dreadful relationships."

"So what would this contract have entailed?"

"They would have agreed on basic behavior, perhaps time commitment, expectations. If there are fantasies that one or the other would be interested in those would have been included. The safe word certainly would have been spelled out then. They would have signed probably within the confines of one of the local BDSM groups."

"Why the contract?" Brass wanted to know.

"Domination and submission are very powerful. It's really the submissive that has the power which is why most women excel at the role."

Another glance in Sara's direction, who seemed unfazed by the other woman. The interview had made Brass nervous until Sara assured him that she would be fine. He was impressed with her restraint. Sara Sidle adored, most probably loved Gil Grissom. A meeting with a woman that had captivated him for a time could prove volatile.

Heather spoke loudly and directed her words in the other woman's direction. "He that humbleth himself wishes to be exalted."

"Nietzsche," Sara said evenly.

Heather turned back to Brass.

"People need guidelines and rules Captain Brass. They need to know what's accepted and what's prohibited. They need that even in the most intimate of relationships. This is one of the most intimate of relationships. You expose parts of you that few have ever seen. Rules ensure some measure of safety

Brass pointed to the dead woman whose photo sat in the middle of the table. "That doesn't look very safe."

Heather nodded her head and looked at Sara solemnly. "That's what happens when people fall in love."

XXX

Sara tried not to stare at Greg's splotchy face.

"Did you go to court like that?" Sara wanted to know. She eyed Catherine's hands as she blotted calamine lotion on the various sections of Greg's face.

"Well, when I left I looked like my normal cutie pie self. While I was on the stand my face starts itching. By the time I got back here, I looked like this."

"Know what caused it?" Sara asked.

"Apparently sex lotion." Catherine spoke quietly as she swabbed another blemish.

"What…?" Sara raised an eyebrow

"I was in the lab looking for Hodges lotion stash, he's such a skin care queen, cause I exfoliated last night and I was still a little dry. Turns out they had some lotion left over from last month. I never found Hodges stash but I did find the lubricant. Only I didn't know it was lubricant. It looked like regular lotion. Smelled like regular lotion. It was called Palm Breezes. Who knew?"

Sara smiled sweetly. "Sorry Greggo. If it helps any you are still my cutie pie."

The young man grinned.

"I guess it's all worth if two of my favorite ladies pay a little more attention to me."

Sara gave him another grin. "Did you see Gris down there? I know he was trying to wiggle out of jury duty."

Greg watched Cath close the bottle of anti-itch medicine. "Um…I saw him in the hallway after the case. Surprised they let him stay on in a case I was testifying in."

Catherine stood back to see if she missed any spots. "Probably because he was out of town when the evidence was being processed and none of us had talked to him about it."

Catherine moved Greg's hand away from his face as he tried to scratch with his pinky finger.

"He was on the phone. Real hush-hush. Didn't seem like he wanted to be disturbed."

Sara nodded and shook her head and retreated. Once she was alone in the lockeroom she looked at her phone.

Eight calls from Otto.

XXX

Sara rapped on the door and was greeted with smiling blue eyes. He waved Sara in. They didn't have…a what? Sara was never sure what their evenings and afternoons were called. Part of her hoped to find another woman there. That he was on a date. That would make things so much easier.

Several black and white photos were spread across the kitchen table. The day before Sara had been spread across it. She picked up one of the snapshots and raised an eyebrow.

"Is this you in tights?"

Gil smiled proudly. He was pleased that Sara had just stopped by without an appointment on the books. "My aunt ran a dance studio. I was stronger than most boys my age so she paid me five dollars a week to lift."

"And peek I am sure." Sara said dryly.

"Of course."

Sara laughed and put the picture back where she found it. "How was your case?"

"Eh. Boring." He didn't know why Sara had stopped by. The case had worn on him. He needed to see Sara's face.

"No bugs. Not a one."

Sara picked up another picture of tight clad Grissom. "I can't believe they let you even stay on the case. Doc Robbins, the Sheriff and Ecklie all got summonses. I am apparently the lesser of all evils. The lawyers didn't want ever law enforcement types turned around so I was the only one left." huh?

Sara found herself losing her nerve. She thought of the papers in her purse. "So you done?"

"Cut and dry really. Older man. Younger woman. Thought his money was going to keep her from straying. Apparently the husband had nil sex drive. By all accounts she loved him. She just couldn't deal with the lack of sex. Started sleeping with the gardener."

"What was the crime?" Sara said edgily.

"Attempted murder. He tried to kill the gardener. Shot him. She was right there though. Doesn't look like she's going anywhere no matter what he's sentenced."

Sara took a deep breath. Gil saw faint worry lines appear around her mouth and eyes.

"What?"

"Your girlfriend came by today." She said impishly. She knew that the words she spoke were not true.

"Girlfriend…"

"Heather."

"Heather is not my girlfriend." His hands were resting on her forearms now. The tattoo that had faded with time peeked out from under one of his long sleeves. It was a butterfly. He had taken to calling her his butterfly. Sara waited for him to say that she was his girlfriend. His something. He remained mute.

Sara broke contact and pulled the folded paper out of her purse. She held it out for him to take. He made no move to accept it. She placed it on the table.

"Just because you won't take it Gris doesn't mean I haven't done it."

He eyed the paper then looked at dark irises. "I don't suppose we can discuss this."

His voice was flat and controlled. His hands steady.

"You said if either one of us wanted out we did not have to explain. That's what the contract said. We wrote it together. You agreed. We agreed." Her breath caught in her throat at the sight of his eyes. They were dark and hurt. Still he had said it best once. It wasn't worth the risk. Her stomach was unsteady and grumbled. She hadn't eaten.

His leaned back in his chair. "You didn't eat?"

"I forgot."

"You can't do that Sara. Your hypoglycemia. I'll make you something."

Sara shook her head. Anything affable and pleasant between them would only make things harder.

Weeks ago they had passed the stage of lovers. They had always been intimates. They needed more time together. His eyes followed, as they always had, across a room, across a scene. She noticed now. Everyone noticed.

"I have to go Sir…Grissom. I have to go."

He watched her drive away and opened the note.

_Dearest Otto,_

_I formerly release you from any obligation you have to be as your submissive. I withdraw myself from our contract. I have learned a great deal about myself and for that I am grateful. I will miss our time together. I have never felt so cherished and cared for. _

_Your adored one,_

_Keiko_

The last lined seemed to be scrawled as an after thought. Their relationship summed up in one clean sentence. Still he was grateful.

He sat in his living room for hours. Not moving. Thinking only of her and their time together. The constraints had allowed him to love her without breaking his heart. It hadn't worked. His heart was shattered into a million slivers that seemed hopeless and beyond repair. He was a tired man much like Dr. Lurie who had been given new life by a young beautiful woman. Now she had taken it away.

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

He started with daily phone calls. Would she please talk to him? Would she please just tell him why? Didn't he deserved that much of an answer?

Finally he called Heather.

"Hello?"

"Hello."

"What happened with Sara and the interview?" He asked in a hoarse whisper. He had cried more in the last week then he had in his entire life. He could only sleep on the couch and even that was becoming difficult.

"Interview…Oh dear. Sara is your...Oh dear. Gilbert, I should have known."

He listened to her breath for several moments. "What happened? What did you say?"

"The case. The submissive was killed and I said that I thought one or even both of them had fallen in love. Gilbert, I am sorry. I was distracted. I knew that she was probably in a contract with someone. She seemed so confident and cared for I knew that there was soon to be a problem. I just wanted to warn her that she needed to get out of the contract. Not that she needed to leave her lover completely. It was simply time for the contract to end and if there was to be something else they could do it freely. It's not safe for love to enter these kinds of relationships. Someone always gets hurt."

Gil thought of their night together and the subsequent trouble that had followed.

"I should know better." He said in hard voice.

"Yes you should." Heather agreed. "She released herself from the contract?"

He nodded though she could not see him. "She left me completely. She won't talk to me except at work."

Heather thought for a second. "She's very strong. Much stronger than people give her credit for. What are you going to do? She's self possessed. That is a gift you gave her."

"Doesn't feel like a gift." He snorted.

"You have been crying." Heather whispered in his ear.

He gave another silent nod despite the fact that she could not see him.

"She gave you the gift of feeling again."

XXX

He was outside her apartment. He had no idea what he was going to say or do. She wasn't home. Her car was in the parking lot but the lights were off in her apartment. He would make her talk to him. He wasn't sure how but he would.

He had washed the Scotch and clove cigarettes from his skin and hair. He had trimmed his beard and run some product through his hair. He was surprised that the past two weeks of drinking and little sleep had not taken more of toll. Still Sara would be able to tell.

Sara walked up the staircase followed by Tim Speedle, a friend and CSI from Miami. He and his supervisor, the ghost-like Horatio Caine, were in town and attending a seminar that Grissom was lecturing at.

She smiled as she turned her doorknob. "All I have to drink is coffee, Australian wine, water and skim milk."

"Whoa. That's pretty good for a single person. I just have water and apple juice in my fridge. I will take some wine," he replied as he settled himself on the small couch.

Sara was nervous and edgy. She had no intentions of sleeping with Tim. Still it felt odd having someone in her apartment other than her guys and Grissom. She poured the wine.

XXX

Grissom guessed that Sara had come up the back stairwell. He wondered where she had been. Probably out with Nick or Warrick. He turned the key in his hand. They were only supposed to use the keys to let themselves in for an agreed upon appointment.

He looked at the door. He didn't want to scare her but he didn't want to chance her not letting him in. He would suffer her temper if it meant he had a few moments to plead his case.

Sara watched in horror as the lock turned.

Grissom. Shit.

Tim remained pleasant. "I didn't know you had a roommate."

As he turned the door Grissom looked into Sara's face. He spoke softly. "I know you are but can you just hear me out?"

Tim turned at the sound of Dr. Gil Grissom's voice. His boss' words came back to haunt him when Horatio Caine had realized that Tim was interested in the leggy brunette.

"Speed. You don't want to get between Gil Grissom and that woman."

"She said they aren't seeing each other."

"I repeat Speed. You don't want to get between Dr. Grissom and Sara."

Gil watched the young man as time moved slowly. He raised his eyebrow to a precise point.

"Mr. Speedle."

The other man stood hoping that youth and height would give him some advantage. It did not.

"Dr. Grissom." He looked at Sara. "Maybe I should go."

Sara leveled him with a gaze. "Sit down Tim."

She pushed Gil into the hall. He savored the hot whisper and the spray of saliva on his face.

"Leave Grissom."

They huddled in the dark hallway of Sara's apartment building speaking in short angry bursts. Gil was thrown by the sudden equality of their conversation. She did not harbor all the power any longer. She could utter no safe word to make him stop.

"Don't I at least get some kind of explanation? Dammit Sara, why won't you even talk to me?"

"I can't talk to you." She flexed one long elegant foot, her purple rhinestone studied flip flops offered a subdued glint.

"Sara…" His voice was soft and sweet. He was close. He touched her face then moved his hand away. His body followed. She silently thanked him for the distance.

"Grissom…I should have never agreed to the contract. You knew better. I didn't know enough. You took advantage of my inexperience with this…"

He looked at her closed apartment door surprised to find that he harbored very little jealously with regard to the man that sat in Sara's home.

He sighed with a melancholy that only those who have known true love are capable. She was right. He had lured her into the contract after a case involving bondage knowing that their feelings were far too volatile for such an arrangement. They could not create unforgiving lines and boundaries.

She started speaking again. "Our lives. We work together. We were in this thing together. You knew better Grissom. I didn't. I know better now."

His Sara. The eternal student. It was only a matter of time before she uncovered his unspoken lies.

"Dominants and submissives shouldn't work together. They shouldn't have over a decade of history. Every book. Every expert. They all say the same thing Gris."

"Sara…"

Her chin jutted out in an unforgiving line. "Gil, I had never felt so…I have never felt so special in my entire life."

He touched her face again. She kissed his palm without any conscious thought. She always kissed his hand when he touched her face. The dance between them could never be forgotten, the adoration of one another. "Then why?"

"Someone was going to get hurt. Physically hurt Gris, not just the emotional volleys we keep hurling back and forth."

The next words were the only ones that would make him retreat. "You love me more than Dr. Lurie loved Debbie."

It was not a question. It was a fact.

He turned and left. She could not bear to watch him walk away. She ignored the tears in both their eyes.

Over. Safe.

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

**Your Adored One**

**Chapter 3: Months Earlier**

Sara was tired. Grissom exhausted. They sat in his office mulling over a possible dinner but what they needed, wanted, was a stiff drink. She was afraid to bring it up because of her near DUI. He afraid for the same reasons.

The case had been horrendous. A family of five. He was a science professor, she a stay home mom. One child had survived. Elizabeth. She was now with her maternal grandparents who were still barely aware of their own pungent grief. Sara was glad she had somewhere to go. She had been comforted by the five year old running towards her grandfather as he had approached the house.

Everyone should have someone to run to she thought.

They had looked wearily at one another. She missed Nick. He missed Catherine. A drink. Maybe a little food. Some solace.

They had ended up at Martie's who was used to seeing the quiet scientist with one beautiful woman or another, the tiny strawberry blonde, the dark haired heavy lidded woman perfumed with secrets and the willowy brunette who seemed his equal.

She sipped the wine. He guzzled the beer, and then switched to bourbon. Her own grandfather had told her never to date man that couldn't handle a stiff drink. Her grandfather would have liked Gil Grissom with his quiet maleness and quiet contemplation.

Without realizing it, both were starving and the plate of tapas disappeared in minutes. He watched as Sara licked rich pesto sauce from her fingers. He waved to Al and spoke in quiet precise Italian tinged with his mother's rural accent.

"Did you just order food for me?" Sara asked.

"Yes."

Sara was quiet for a moment. "What did you order?"

"For you, fettuccini with Garlic and Pesto. For me, Angel Hair with their mother's sauce."

Sara looked down at the empty tapas platter.

"What?" Grissom said in a lazy voice.

"What if I don't like what you ordered?" She said lightly.

"A man should never have a serious meal with a woman he can't order for. It cheapens the sanctity of the meal."

Sara smiled and fingered her wine glass. "I wonder if he ordered for her."

The dead couple. The case still hovered over them both.

"I just keep telling myself that they wouldn't have go on without the other. Not sure I believe that with the children and all."

Sara was certain her next question was inappropriate but the wine made it more palatable. "Their sex life was very um…."

Grissom had longed to avoid this conversation with Sara. That did not seem possible.

"Vigorous?"

Sara blushed and waved her hand vaguely. "I can't imagine anyone tying me up."

"Water finds its own level. They were very happy."

Sara nodded. "Yes they were. We don't see that much. We hardly ever see it in our business."

"_We could be happy." Sara thought. "I could make you happy."_

Gil signaled to the slim waiter that had replaced Al. Sara was surprised to see him switched to red wine.

"Won't that make you sick? Mixing alcohol?"

"I know myself." He explained as he shook his head. His hair was long. That happened in the winter. She wanted to touch the thick curls.

"I suppose you have to know yourself for someone to tie you up." She spoke slowly, measuring her words, hoping she wasn't tipsy yet.

Sara buried her nose in her wine glass and took a too large sip.

He found her completely irresistible when she was embarrassed or shy.

He watched Sara flick her fingers. She wore nail polish. He pointed to a glossy nail.

"New boyfriend?"

"New leaf. I never polish my nails because I think I will just ruin them act work. I straighten my hair because it's better for work. I own no shoes that aren't sensible. Again work. I have started thinking about what's best for Sara."

"I don't like your hair straight." He admitted.

"You don't?"

He shook his head. "It's like you are trying to tame something that should not be tamed. Women should not be tamed. Men should learn that."

"Then why would a man want to tie a woman up?" She blurted.

Gil turned her words over in his mind. Sara. Always asking the questions. Ones he wanted to answer and ones he did not. He looked at her long neck for a time then her dark eyes. "I am a male chauvinist so I am probably not the best one to answer."

Sara narrowed her eyes. "You are not a chauvinist."

He laughed. "No I am not. I just thought I could get you to change the subject."

"Nice try."

She squared her shoulders and caught his sparkling eyes. "So why would a man want to tie a woman up?"

"I am sure it has something to do with control issues. The need to be trusted. The need to be believed in."

"Huh…"

"What?"

"When you say like that it doesn't sound so…"

"Depraved?"

"No."

"Kinky?"

"Yes."

Their plates of food arrived steaming and fragrant. More wine was consumed and by the end of the meal Sara felt content and sensual. She pulled her shoulders close to her ears and sighed. He liked knowing that she had eaten a good meal. That maybe she would sleep. He worried about her constantly, didn't know how to move his worry to action. Didn't want to be trapped by her knowing he already was trapped, had been for some time.

She bit her lip and seemed to settle on something. Women always did the choosing.

"You ever tie anyone up Gris?"

He nodded. Though he was sure he shouldn't.

"How many?"

He held up one finger. Sara rubbed an index finger over her thumb. "Old girlfriend?" Sara ventured.

He smiled noncommittally and forward. "I should not answer that question."

"But you are going to." She smiled. Truth was he could hardly deny her anything sober or not.

Women knew more about their man than any woman would care to admit or any man wanted to know.

"Do you want to tie me up Grissom?"

The waiter returned and whispered something to Grissom.

He held her gaze. "My Sara will have something rich and sweet."

He held her gaze for a full minute. "Sara. If I tell you this, I will want more…I won't turn back."

"You have never turned back Grissom. Every no was a yes. No man expends as much energy trying to keep a woman he truly doesn't want at bay."

"I am not just any man Sara."

The unspoken words hovered in the air. He was her man.

"Do you want to tie me up Grissom?"

Sara barely noticed the waiters hand slip between them resting the tray of fruit covered with dark chocolate. She was sure that the courage to play the vixen was wine and weariness driven. He knew it was not. Time had caught up with them.

He picked a sliver of something and touched it to his lips first then to Sara's.

"So very much my dear." He signaled for the check.

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

A/N This chap is dedicated to CSINut214. She veered me back on path when I was in a ditch. As always nothing, thanks to Smryzko and Cybrocat who are my trusty betas.

Angst and not so lovable Grissom ahead. Remember the man is in pain.

**Your Adored One **

**Chapter 4 **

Grissom reached for his lighter. The lighter he had rarely used even when he smoked a pack a day. His grandfather's lighter had survived one war, an ocean crossing, Ellis Island and several pawnings to make it to Gil's hand when he turned twenty one. His mother had hesitated giving it to him believing that it would encourage his already obsessive habit of smoking.

Gil did nothing with temperance. He did not work, study or love with rationality. He only had two speeds. Blinding brilliance or morbid plodding. He was halfway through the pack that he had only bought at noon. He hated the smell and taste of clove cigarettes so he had switched to the awful Turkish ones preferred by his first love, Sarah Faruk. Saras. Two Saras in one lifetime was enough for one man. Two dark haired intense beauties who had captured him in an instant and destroyed him with flick of efficient words.

"_Gil. I have to go home to get married."_

"_But you said…."_

"_I know what I said. I can't disappoint my family. You don't understand these things. It's just you and your mother. I have generations relying…expecting this marriage."_

"_But you don't love him."_

_She had laughed then. Wondering at how naive he was. People did not marry for love very often. At least not people she knew. _

The Turkish cigarettes would not do now. Sara smoked Marlboros before she quit. He had ignored them in the store. Like he had ignored Sara for years. Men were foolish. His mother had told him that when he asked about his father.

"_Gil, men are foolish. Don't be foolish."_

He had never smoked inside. Never in his home or his dorm room or any apartment had he lived. Now he drove Sara from the walls and the sheets of his clean airy townhouse, any space she occupied with her scent. He poured smoke out of his lungs and directed it into corners and crevices.

He had bleached his sheets and washed them in hot water over and over again until regret began to work at the pit of his stomach. He found a stray pillowcase that still smelled of her. Now he slept with it clutched in one nicotine stained hand as he tossed and turned on the couch, in his office, anywhere but the bedroom.

She hardly ever spent the night. It was a contract, not a love affair. A union to fill needs. There was to be no blurred whimsical ideas about what they could be. They were what they were. Still the bedroom was hers. She owned him no matter what words were written on paper.

He pressed the long dark cylinder into a glass ash tray that he hid in an office drawer.

He ambled through the house still holding the ashtray with one thick hand wondering as he patted one pocket cigarette filled pocket. He went to his office not sure why he went through the ritual of flipping through his worn address book. He hardly forgot anything. His memory wasn't photographic but close. It had sharpened with age instead of diminished.

He ran a thick finger over the small white page. He dialed.

"Hello?"

"Hello. I need to see someone."

Silence.

"Now?"

"I don't know…"

"You don't know what you need?"

He felt juvenile and inane. He knew himself. It was really a farce. A trick he played on himself hoping to fool those around him, a covering worn between himself and the world between his skin and his soul.

"I told you what I need. I need to see someone."

"And I asked you when."

"Not there."

She took note of the edginess in his voice. She was a physician on the verge of unnecessary surgery.

"I don't send anyone out."

"We both know you have."

Her voice snaked around him like like the smoke from the now lit cigarette. She listened to the flinty sound as he played with the cheap lighter he kept in one pocket. Who was he hiding from? Sara? Himself?

"Perhaps I should do this myself…"

"No!"

In her vast office on the other side of town she flinched glad that he could not see her. She was surprised that his reflexive pessimism had not set in. He still held out hope. If Sara was ever to find out.

"Can you give me a couple of hours to pull this together?"

"Sure. How much is this going to cost me?"

"You don't care about that."

"It seemed right to ask. Maybe I will have to explain where the money went."

"I hope for that as much as you do. Dark hair?"

"I don't know…"

"Neither do I."

That they should have come to this place of confusion, she with her smothering intuitiveness. He with everything else necessary.

"I still think I should come." She tried again.

"I appreciate that. I could never explain that to her. That she would not understand."

"What about Catherine?"

"No!" He snapped and stubbed out the half smoked cigarette. He hefted a sturdy bottle of 11 year old single malt scotch from a low drawer and drank straight from the bottle. He had thrown out Sara's merlot and vodka days before.

"I just think there should be someone who understands you. Understands everything. You and Sara and all of this."

"Then find me someone."

He put the phone down and waited.

xxx

Heather looked across the room at Jacqueline. She barely met the other woman's eyes.

Her hair wasn't black like Heather's nor was it dark brown like Sara's. She was not a blonde exactly, nor was she a red head. Not that any of that mattered usually. If the client wanted a red head and their were none available they would create one for the hour or so he spent in the Domain.

Out calls were different. There was likely to be some consummation, some sexual contact; it was harder to give the allusion when one was laid bare so to speak.

Heather had found that people were very particular with regard to her specialty. They wanted it all to be authentic.

"This is your cute cop friend?" She asked watching her boss' eyes flit across the room.

"He's not a cop. He's a forensics expert."

Jacqueline nodded. "Okay…"

Heather pushed hair behind one ear and tapped out numbers on an imaginary calculator.

"He will pay twice your in house rate. I assume their will be some contract of sorts. You are okay with a short term submissive relationship?"

"Sure. Do I sign my real name?"

Heather shot her a look and relaxed as she saw the other woman tense.

"This is not a man you can lie to about anything. Do you understand me? Don't lie. If you don't want to answer say that."

Jacqueline nodded. "I don't understand. I thought you and he…"

Heather shook her head. She looked at the slender woman. She was nearly Sara's age. Not a girl. Gil would find someone under thirty offensive. She was bright and quick witted and knew how to morph depending on the situation. She would not play dumb. Gil would find that trite and irritating. He was not a man that needed intellectual superiority to validate himself. He needed other things. The most interesting one's always did.

There were only four women that Heather trusted to keep the secrets of her out calls. , Tabitha, Jessie and Jacqueline.

Usually she charged four times the in house rate but now it more medicinal than the business of erotica. She could not stomach making profit from the transaction. It would all go to Jacqueline.

"Don't lie to him." Jacqueline watched Heather. "Understood. How's he paying?"

Heather thought for a second. "I don't know. Cash I assume. He wouldn't want a record."

"Will he have enough on him? Or should I say something when I arrive?"

Heather shook her head again. "No. He's got enough on him. Nearly fifty. They always have enough cash for whatever."

Jacqueline liked that about her boss. The observations she passed on as a matter of happenstance. Heather was only a few years older than her but business had wizened her, perhaps made her a bit jaded.

"Is there anything else I should know?"

Heather looked at her well cut slacks. Her high heeled boots and long natural nails. "He's in love with someone. Perhaps a little obsessed."

"Is he married? Do they live together or something? I mean she's not going to walk in…"

Heather opened her top drawer and slipped long fingers toward the back. Success. Virginia Slims. Her mother's lighter was close at hand. She had stolen it from Marjorie Abramowitz when she was eighteen and still would not admit to having it.

"No. He's not married. They aren't together any longer."

"Thus the need for me. So she was into this kind of thing?"

"Yes. She was his equal in that respect."

"That's a shame. To lose someone that gets you. So many people don't get the person they claim to love. You look nervous."

"I am nervous." Heather lit and puffed, enjoying the time that the action gave her.

"Is he dangerous?"

Heather blew smoke away from the other woman. "Would I send you to someone I thought was dangerous?" Heather hedged.

Thankfully, Jacqueline acquiesced. "So what else do I need to know? He's in love. Why is that important if they aren't together anymore?"

"To protect yourself."

"He's just a client. I promise I won't fall in love." The younger woman laughed lightly determined to lighten the mood.

"I think every woman who knows Gil Grissom is a little in love with him." Heather stubbed the unsatisfying cigarette out in a dusty hand shaped ash tray.

Heather leaned back in her chair and blew out what was left of the smoke.

"You don't have to do this." She said suddenly. "I will do it myself. He'll be angry at first but I can calm him down."

"I thought you said he wasn't dangerous."

Heather gave a defeated shrug. "He's not a danger to me."

"Are you scared of him?"

Heather considered the question. "Mostly - no"

"What does that mean?"

"It means he's not himself and I have no business sending you out there." Heather patted her bare foot under her desk searching for shoes she had discarded hours before.

"Where's his lover?" Jacqueline didn't know why but she knew the adjective suited the situation."

"She left. I told you."

"I assume she has a key."

"That would be a safe assumption." Heather wondered why she had not thought of it.

"So you were going to send on an out call with a man who's is obsessed with a woman who may or may not be gone for good. And this woman who is probably just as intense as he is who has a key to place where I will most likely be tied up and nude getting my brains screwed out by her man who has paid me and was sent by his ex-lover."

Jacqueline laughed a hard laugh. "What the hell were you thinking boss lady?"

"I wasn't. I was thinking I have friend that needed a help. As such I should be the one helping, not you."

Jacqueline waved a hand. "On a scale of one to ten how afraid of him are you right now?"

Heather pulled on one high heel. "A two or a three."

"So that would put me at about a five. Is this physical fear? I mean do you fear for your safety at all?"

The other shoe slipped into place. "Not really. A little. Gilbert can be psychologically damaging when he's on his best behavior. Now…."

"I want triple the usual for in house. Not double." Jacqueline said thinking of the retainer she had broken and her last semester of grad school.

"What?"

"Look I can handle any emotional bullshit this guy deals out. And the physical stuff. Well, I do work in place where people whip one another. I figure the extra would be hazard pay if Mrs. Gil shows up."

"I will tell him to expect you."


End file.
